Speechless
by Premerseahshiko
Summary: Zuko was scarred extensively by his father. He cannot speak. After a storm rips him from his uncle, he finds himself in the Southern Water Tribe where he must come to terms with himself. Jetko. One-sided Zukka. Abuse, Angst, Humil, Slash, Violence
1. Chapter 1

Iroh watched from the crowd as his brother advanced upon his kneeling nephew, the sun at his back highlighting the crown in the black topknot. The cruelty that shadowed the youthful planes of the Fire Lord sent a chill up his spine as the crowd of nobles and generals around him pushed and murmured their approval, equally sadistic expressions present on a number of faces. Bile rose in his throat and a feeling of absolute dread drenched him.

Iroh turned his gaze back to his nephew. Zuko still had not raised his head, his demeanor slightly trembling but demonstrating complete trust that the man whose blood ran through his veins would not harm him as he spoke a respectful apology. Iroh knew better. He opened his mouth to cry out a warning to the boy he held dear but it was too late.

His brother's hands glowed, for a fraction of a second illuminating his odium for his son. Iroh watched as Zuko chose that split second to raise his head. He watched his nephew's beautiful, prized golden eyes widen in shock and fear.

Iroh turned his head and closed his eyes as a tortured, choked scream and the familiar sickening smell of burnt human flesh filled the arena. He knew it was over when the nobles began filing out but he remained in place.

It was several minutes after a majority of the nobles had cleared before Iroh could bring himself to open his eyes again and face the reality of what his younger brother had done to his own son. Zuko laid in a crumpled form on the smooth white marble tiles, his back towards him and his father still gazing down at him. Iroh sprang up onto the platform and advanced towards him with a prayer to any spirit that would listen that his nephew was still alive.

He was.

Iroh stroked the undamaged side of his unconscious nephew's face as he wrapped the boy in his cloak before bending to scoop the young man into his arms. As a General in many battles, he was quite familiar with burns in friendly-fire circumstances and when treating civilians caught in the crossfire. He knew instantly if his nephew was not given treatment immediately he would die of a combination of fever and shock.

"Iroh," his brother called, startling him slightly. Iroh did not turn back to face him. "Zuko has been disowned and banished from the Fire Nation. If you aide him now, you will be banished as well."

"Then, this is goodbye Ozai." Those were the last words he would ever say to his brother before carrying his nephew to the nearest medical aide.

The healers were able to prevent the young Prince from perishing from his injuries. However, the burns had done severe nerve damage.

Zuko was partially blind in his left eye….but that was not the worst of his injuries.

When Zuko had been burned, his long hair had caught fire and burned him from his ear to his neck, damaging the tissue of his vocal cords. While he could grunt or make other undefined noises, Zuko was never able to form words again.

One year later…

Zuko gave a small grunt to get Uncle's attention as he stood behind him with a tray of his uncle's afternoon tea. Normally Uncle Iroh and Zuko would share some tea down in the Captain's quarters but Uncle Iroh was currently busy discussing something heatedly with his first officer on the deck of the slightly large fishing boat that had become their livelihood and must have lost track of the time. He initially did not respond to his nephew's attempt to gain his attention. Zuko grunted again, this time slightly louder.

The first mate looked up with a glare at the intruder. He was a young man of twenty-seven whose harsh life of crabbing on the roughest seas in a small boat for a living led to him looking twice his age before he was asked by General Iroh if he wanted to work for him. Xo therefore was naturally grateful for the opportunity and before the past week, Xo would obediently obey all of Iroh's decisions. "We will discuss this later, General Iroh." Then he stalked off over to the other side of the ship.

Iroh's back was towards Zuko for the space of several minutes, his posture rigid, before he turned around and smiled his usual warm smile at his nephew. "Oh, yes. Tea! I did not realize it was so late already. This is absolutely lovely, Prince Zuko. I guess we can have our afternoon ritual here for once. A change in routine keeps the mind active!"

As they sat on the deck, two mats under them for comfort with the tray in-between, Zuko observed his uncle's failed attempts to disillusion him into thinking everything was fine. His uncle was putting far too much sugar in his tea, which Uncle Iroh seemed to realize as his face twisted into disgust for the briefest moment before disappearing. He was also recounting odd fables about tea he had come across when he was travelling the world as a young man. "Did you know that the Air Nomads before they died out believed the Avatar would reincarnate in the line of someone whose tea leaves when left over after drinking formed the sign of the yin and yang?" It was a habit that after years of knowing him and one year of living with him enabled Zuko to easily detect as an evasive maneuver.

Zuko stared his uncle down to let him know he was not fooled by his behavior.

Finally, Iroh sighed and gave into his nephew's unspoken question. The old man took a gentle sip of his tea before proceeding. "I did not want to give your hopes up, but at last port I was told that the Northern Water Tribe may have healers who possess special abilities to heal scar tissue, even ones that are many years old."

Zuko's heart stopped and he delicately laid his hand over the damaged tissue on the left side of his face. Hope dangled temptingly, its promise of returning to normal suddenly just out of reach. The scars were a mark of his dishonor and if they vanished, would he feel whole again? Would he be able to speak again?

"Prince Zuko," Uncle Iroh reminded. "We are so far South where there is very little contact, this news is most likely false- a legend told many times to keep hope alive in times of war."

Zuko narrowed his eyes at his uncle and indicated where Xo stood barking orders to indicate he wanted to know why this upset the first mate so much.

"As you know, our commissions are usually to catch yellow turtlefish, which are only found near the Southern Water Tribe's boarders. To get to the Northern Water Tribe would take weeks and some of our crew do not wish to remain parted from their families for so long. However, after we finish this commission, I plan on pursuing this rumor if there is the chance to return your voice to you." Iroh promised, leaning across the tray to grasp Zuko's hand just as the sound of a new catch of fish flopped on deck. "You are my life now, Nephew. I would do anything to give you back your smile."

Zuko allowed his Uncle to lean forward and gently caress the unblemished side of his face. When his Uncle had withdrawn his hand, Zuko allowed himself to gaze at the floor. Uncle Iroh was really too good of a person. He'd given up his very comfortable retired life in his country for his worthless, ugly nephew and had chosen to live a harsh life on the sea to support said worthless nephew.

Zuko knew Uncle would have been better off he hadn't survived his burns and Zuko often wished he hadn't.

Not wanting his Uncle to worry, Zuko gave his Uncle a small smile and allowed his Uncle to ruffle his ragged hair before collecting the empty tea tray as his Uncle returned to work.

----

Zuko had been sleeping quietly on his thin floor mat when the ship suddenly lurched to one side and caused him to fall over.

He blinked as he tried to clear his mind of the daze that came from being unnaturally awoken from a long session of sleeping. It took several minutes before he realized what he was hearing outside of the door. The crew were screaming and shouting amid the sound of a violent wind. It all indicated one thing: they were in the middle of a storm. A clash of thunder sent a shiver down his spine as the boat lurched again.

Zuko sat up, tugging his ragged clothes on as he heard his uncle call his name in the distance.

The first step onto the deck was like instant acupuncture, but Zuko pressed on to where his uncle stood, several robes in his hand that he was struggling to tie down as the crew were frantically tying things down. "Nephew, I need your help securing the ropes!" Just as he came within arm reach of his uncle, the ship suddenly lurched to the left side, making him loose his footing and sending his crashing into the railing so hard he saw white for a brief second.

His vision cleared and he saw his uncle's terrified face and chubby, warm arm extended to him three meters away. "Nephew!"

Zuko had just gotten to his feet when a sudden wave overtook the deck, making the deck so slick he fell backwards and over the railing.

The last thing he heard before the blue-black sea swallowed him was his uncle's hysterical screams.

----

"Katara, don't touch it!"

Zuko opened his eyes to find a canvas of soft blue above him. It took him several seconds to place it. 'Sky? I must be lying on my back.'

Suddenly, something sharp poked him in the side and he let out a gasp of pain. 'What the hell was that?'

"It's alive! Get behind me, Katara!" an adolescent male voice commanded.

Zuko tried to turn his head to the left to see the owner of the voice, but found his neck was too stiff to cooperate. He groaned in pain again.

"He's hurt, Sokka! We have to help him!" said a young, female voice.

"He's Fire Nation, Katara! Just look at his clothes. If one dies, it's one less to worry about." the male's voice was laced with venom. There was another jab in his side and Zuko realized it was a wooden stick.

So he wasn't in Fire Nation territory then.

"But he's just a kid, Sokka! Look at him- he needs help!" the female voice… Katara?... exclaimed. "I'm going to get GramGram."

He heard the sound of rapid crunching as the girl left despite the boy's… Sokka?... call.

Zuko lay there for what seemed like an eternity, attempting to move any of his muscles but they all hurt too much. Then a shadow was cast over his face.

An old, dark-skinned and white-haired woman's face smiled somewhat hesitantly down on him and despite how different she looked, Zuko could instantly tell her personality was much like his uncle's. The gleam of what he could only describe as a sad-friendliness in those blue eyes was that of someone who had seen horrible things in their long life but had decided to do some good before they left the world. Zuko's good eye suddenly went wide. Uncle… was Uncle okay?

A gnawed and weathered hand caressed his forehead. "He feels warm… a little too warm even for a fire-bender. Sokka, go to Mrs. Turtle and get her walrus-skin stretcher. Also, tell her I'll need her help carrying him back home."

"But GramGram…!" this 'Sokka' protested.

"No 'but's, young man. Do as I say now!"

"Yes Ma'am," Sokka groaned.

"You're lucky to be alive, young man," GramGram said as she gently soothed his hair away from his head.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Speechless Chapter Two

Agni's light had just begun to set over the iced horizon, painting the landscape in oranges, reds, and purples. The crew worked on the ship in silence, walking over the hard wooden planks with their heads down as though they were thoroughly engrossed in work as they treated the deck.

There was only one person on deck standing still and that was the first-mate.

Xo leaned against the railing of the portside, his soft leather cuffs creating a slight squeak on contact with the wood, as the small search party's vessel came into view. Five men had been sent and only five heads could be seen. They had been unsuccessful. He watched as the boat's crew secured the lifeboat to the ship's side in sadness.

The first man on deck approached him to report, "Still no sign of the young prince."

Was that not obvious? Xo had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from yelling his head off at the man.

Irritation had long since set in.

Irritation at not having a clue what had happened to the boy. Irritation that his uncle had the boy brought on deck in the first place, despite the boy being useless. Irritation at being away from his wife. Irritation at being away from his country. Irritation that this entire situation was delaying his return. And irritation that the crew seemed to be saying and doing the most moronic things in the world.

"I'll go inform the Captain," Xo stated as he spun on his heel.

----

The paper had just begun to take on a soft yellow as the ink began to take on a softer black, made even more evident by the hard brown backdrop. Light from the cabin's porthole illuminated the fading art piece so that the outline of the soft, warm eyes of the subject was the focus. Though the subject's mouth was set in a line, there was a feeling about the piece that at any moment the young man would smile brightly at the viewer or break into laughter at something the artist had said. The young man's neck was encased in the high collar of a Fire Nation uniform. The only thing suggesting high status was the shiny dark hair pulled immaculately into a top bun on the subject's head, held together by a clasp with the Fire Nation emblem on top. There was some tearing at left edge of the paper as though it had been ripped out of some binding before being matted and some oily thumb prints at the corners, but it was obvious the painting was well loved.

In contrast to the calm, approachable soldier was the ink painting beside it that looked like it had never seen the light of day. Though it was made about two years after the soldier's painting, the ink was bold and its coloring was almost white. The subject in this piece appeared to be a boy around twelve years of age who stared at the viewer with a nervous glint in light-colored eyes. One could imagine the poor boy fidgeting on the stool and pulling at end of the high ponytail created from the long curtain of black hair as the artist tried his best to coax a smile out of the boy. However, it was clear that the artist had been unsuccessful. The lost and affection starved expression made it almost impossible to believe this was the same boy who a month later would stand up to intimidating generals in a war council and speak for the wellbeing of soldiers.

An intricate ceramic incense burner sat between the two pictures, close enough for smoke to gently wave in front of the two but far enough away to prevent any smoke damage.

Seated in front of the two pictures was the silver haired captain whose back was to the door when it creaked open to reveal the aggravated figure of the first mate who stood in the doorway silently, his irritation eroding into pity. For several minutes neither man spoke, both pairs of eyes focused on the pictures.

"My nephew?" the deep, soft voice finally broke the tension. It was sometimes hard for Xo to believe his kind boss was the great prince and general who had led his army into victory after victory until he lost his son at Ba Sing Se. In his place rested an utterly devastated old man.

"I'm sorry, sir, but once again there's been no sign of him."

"Can we afford another week at sea?" Iroh's voice was flat, not a hint of hope tugging at the cords. Both knew by now that all that could be found of his nephew now would be a corpse, if it could even be found.

"No, Captain, most of our cargo has begun to go bad and the men have become anxious to return home."

They lapsed into silence again for several seconds before Captain Iroh replied, "Very well then, give the order." Xo turned on his boot's heel to leave creating a squish and a solid thump sounding on wood at the action, but Iroh stopped him. "Is that old fishing vessel you own still sea worthy?"

"Yes," Xo answered. It needed some work and was small but it was, in his opinion, one of the best fishing boats created in the Fire Nation.

"Would you be interested in an exchange?"

Xo was stunned. "Sir?"

"My nephew deserves a proper burial," came the flat reply, "I want to make sure I give him one."

Xo nodded to the back of Iroh's head, a symbol of empathy towards the sitting man despite the fact he felt it was a foolhardy quest to risk one's life for a corpse. But who was he to stop him? Besides, he'd gotten the better end of the deal.

----

(Two weeks later)

"Why is he even still here?" Zuko heard Sokka whine inside the small igloo. "His injuries are almost completely gone so what's with that guy hanging around and mooching off of us?"

"I don't know! It's not like we can really ask him anyway!" Katara retorted with a humph of exacerbation at Sokka's childishness.

Zuko saw GramGram watch his reaction out of the corner of her 'mature' eyes. Zuko pretended he couldn't hear them and watched the penguin eggs fry on the large skillet carefully until they obtained just the right consistency as GramGram prepared four fresh fish on another skillet. Sokka liked his eggs scrambled, cooked on the outside, and runny on the inside so his were the first he laid on a white-glazed plate and handed to GramGram.

"I have to catch another fish each day because of him…"

"You catch? Hah!"

"Okay so you 'help'. Still, we don't need him here! Why doesn't he just hop in a boat and go home?"

Katara liked her eggs scrampled as well but cooked until their insides were the same as the outside. He handed hers on the beautiful blue and green glazed plate to GramGram.

"He might really have any home to go to Sokka!"

"Great, so we have to take care of the Fire Nation reject."

Zuko was proud he didn't flinch at that comment. Zuko and GramGram liked their eggs sunny side up with the white of the egg nearly brown. He filled the two remaining plates with their eggs and waited for GramGram to lay a duck-fish on each plate before going into the igloo and setting the food on the low table. He ignored the guilty expressions on the siblings' faces as GramGram set the remaining plates on the table and told them to stop standing there and eat.

All four took the places on the four woven floor mats, GramGram facing Katara on one side while Zuko sat to her left facing Sokka who was the only one not sitting properly. Well… if you could call the splayed legs and poor posture Sokka was displaying sitting.

The meal progressed in silence… well as much silence as eating with Sokka got. Zuko had wondered many times why GramGram did not correct Sokka on his manners. Somehow the boy would manage to practically disconnect his jaw like a snake and stuff as much as he could in his mouth in one go, finish quickly, then belch loudly.

After the belching ritual, Sokka as always said, "That's some good eating GramGram!"

"Thank our guest as well Sokka. He made those eggs you inhaled."

"Yeah. Yeah. Thanks, Goldy." Sokka said, smiling even more at the golden-eyed glare he received for the nickname while rising from the table and waved off his Grandmother's words of minding his manners with several lifts of his wrist. "I'd love to stay and chat but I need to go check over the boat before we go fishing today. That is if the Fire Nation has left us any fish to catch." With that said, Sokka was soon out the door.

"Ignore him," Katara advised with a look that promised Sokka was sure to get slapped for his behavior later, her blue eyes on the door with her mouth set into a pouty line.

Despite himself, Zuko smiled at the funny sight and imagined Sokka getting slapped with a fish to the face.

A slight rumble of a laugh built inside of him and was let out before he could stop it, a gruff, almost frightening sound due to his damaged vocal cords erupted. As GramGram and Katara turned startled gazes on him, his smile dropped. A hand unconsciously went to his throat, embarrassment coloring his pale cheeks. Wanting to avoid further humiliation, he bowed in respect and exited the igloo ignoring Katara's quiet call for him to come back.

'I don't want your sympathy,' Zuko wanted to reply, recognizing the tone Katara had used as he walked out of the village wanting a little air. 'At least Sokka doesn't constantly worry about making me remember my handicaps; he just says whatever he's thinking.' Golden eyes ignored mothers pulling their children away and old women shaking their heads at him.

He just needed to forget he was different, if only for a little while. Thankfully, his borrowed water tribe clothing was able to protect him from the cold for a little bit as he found a spot far away from the village to practice his bending.

As usual, his skills were greatly lacking and being out of practice did not help. He couldn't even manage a decent throw of a fireball as he punched. The fireballs he attempted did not cover enough distance to reach the mound of snow twelve feet in front of him or have the size he wanted. He could just hear his sister's snide comments at the pitiful sight and see his mother's disappointed face.

He pushed those thoughts away and tried a simple bending kick, feeling slightly better when the fire reached the target.

"My Grandson is right, you know," a voice behind him said, startling him into falling on his back and sending a fine powder of snow into the air.

Zuko looked up to find GramGram standing there, her demeanor and stance commanding and emotionless. He pulled himself to his feet.

"Your injuries have healed. It is time for you to return home. Surely your family is worried about you?" GramGram asked, her face impassive.

Zuko lowered his gaze to the snow-covered ice beneath his feet. The meaning of her words was clear: he had overstayed his welcome. H would obey her wishes and leave the village tomorrow… but where was he to go? Only Uncle Iroh wanted him and he was far better off without his useless nephew weighing him down. It was far kinder to let him believe he was dead.

A gnawed hand had found its way onto his shoulder. "I am sorry, young man, but your face brings back too many bad memories for this village for us to keep you. This is what is best for everyone." The soft sound of crunching snow let him know GramGram had left him.

Then, Zuko was alone again.

When he found his way back to the village, Katara and Sokka still hadn't come back from their fishing trip.

----

There was a strange boy and animal in the village when Zuko woke up. Curious, but wanting to feel useful, he proceeded to help GramGram as he normally did in the morning, suppressing the hurt her words had inflicted on him.

"He's an airbender, GramGram!" Katara said excitedly, a large smile on her face as she clasped her hands excitedly in front of her.

Airbender?

"We don't know that Katara. All we know is that he flew a few feet in the air when he sneezed. Weird, but that doesn't mean he's telling the truth," Sokka said, one hand on his hip and the other shaking his spear in Katara's face. "He could be Fire Nation scum like this one!" He pointed with the tip of his spear to Zuko who was helping GramGram prepare snakeseal meat for breakfast.

"He's not!" Katara protested with a stomp of her foot. "I'm going to go wake him up so he can meet the village and you'll all see he's harmless."

Minutes later, the strange boy emerged from one of the tents and the village wandered away from the cooking fires to see him. Zuko watched from a distance, still stripping the rough skin off the meat in coils as the boy with the strange tattoos and clothes was 'greeted' by the village.

Making himself focus on the task at hand and ignoring the soft laughter, he didn't hear the boy coming until he amazingly landed from the air on the opposite side of the prep table. "Hi! I'm Aang. What's your name? Aren't you fire nation? How'd ya get that scar?"

To be continued

Sorry for the wait! I couldn't think of a way to make an interesting filler chapter.

Special thanks to my friend Stephen who keeps reminding me to update this.

Thank you also Envious Doll, ArrayePL, Alabaster86, Darkonyxnz, and Destiny Lot for your reviews!


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